Swiftly
by SunstreakersGlitch
Summary: Kenny hates himself, his constant dying and his crappy home life. Enter Tweek. Can Kenny catch the spazzy blond, or is he more broken than anyone could have guessed. Slash, Suicidal. Been warned loveies.
1. I Don't Know Why,

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Can't afford.

**Warning: **Slash, Language, Suicidal themes, Abuse, underage drinking

**Arcturus:** This is the start of my Star stuff. Kenny is broken but Tweek is worse. Don't think i gave Kenny the tattoo for no reason, it's a main story point, promise. Just not now. This is a teasey chapter to see if this whole story is going someplace or if it's even worth it.

READDDDDDDDDD or due, i might explode

* * *

><p>He was short, barely reaching over five foot. Thin with a sharpness that proclaimed it was not simply genetics. His hair was pale yellow. His eyes the deep blue of sea water. His skin was clean and a few shades darker than cream, hollow blue shadows could be made out under the tight skin of his eyes.<p>

He had straight teeth, a marvel really. His eyelashes were thick and dark framing the innocent blue charmingly. He jaw line was delicate, with high cheek bones and an aquiline nose. If one didn't know better they would proclaim him the ancestor of some noble house, with the aristocratic features.

In the pale eyebrow of his left eye a silver spike gleamed dangerously in the fluorescent lighting. On his right wrist the words 'Arcturus' were tattooed in black calligraphy. His t-shirt was a faded out orange, hanging loose off o his frame. His blue jeans precariously low on his hips, exposing the sharp bones, the hint of golden curls and the edge of blue plaid boxers. His shoes were knock off converse in ripped and greying, black, stringy laces hanging in tidy knots.

With both hands braced on the porcelain sink he faced off with his reflection.

The silver mirror showed his blond hair hanging limp in his eyes. Blue eyes faded with a world weary coldness. His fingers tightened on the sink edge and he hated himself for this weakness.

He would never speak it, he would never truly mourn it. His friends, such as they were, would never understand and his tears held no meaning. The depth of his self hate coiled around his heart until he felt the unbearable pressure begin to invade his mind.

_Look at you now McCormick. Pussy to the end. Except you don't have an end do you? This is the endless laundry cycle you call n existence. God needs you to prove yourself and Satan doesn't think your bad enough. Your little war of Heaven and Hell can't save you from this._

"Your fucking pathetic" Kenny spit the words out hard and cold, like he meant them. He would have flinched if those weak eyes glossing over with pain weren't his own. Kenny deserved the hate.

A sudden squeak from behind caused Kenny to release his hold on the sink and turn. For a moment he felt unreal when he wasn't touching the porcelain, like he himself wasn't solid enough on his own to simply exist on earth.

_Who knows, this might be the delusion Hell has given you. It's quite enough to drive you bat shit._

"I-Im sorry" a small voice whispered and Kenny found himself staring a the bowed head of possibly the only boy he'd ever met _smaller_ than him. The blond in front of him was staring down at his shoes and seemed ready to be hit, his shoulders curled around his ears and his whole body trembling.

Twitching. "Tweek" he said putting a name to the boy. He vaguely remembered the boy from his younger years. From before he realized what 'never gonna die' meant. From before his father realized what that meant.

He almost regretted voicing the name aloud when the boys shaking became uncontrollably wild. He was afraid to step forward for fear of setting the boy off worse so he spoke quietly instead.

"Not you Tweek. Just…" he trailed off uselessly. How did one explain speaking to ones reflection with a level of hate usually reserved for Eric Cartman?

Tweek looked up and for a moment Kenny was lost. Green eyes brighter than a Mt. Dew bottle capture his duller blue orbs. In those green, green eyes Kenny saw the self-hate and anguish multiplied tenfold, he saw kinship, the understanding that you are not good enough, wont ever be. He saw his own life in the hopeless gaze.

And he saw more.

He saw an innocent acceptance, a peaceful understanding that his own eyes did not reflect.

For the most unbearable moment he saw what life could be if he gave in for real. His brief moments locked in school bathrooms, wallowing in his bed at night, staring at stars on the frozen waters of Starks Pond all came rushing back to him. He had never reached the level of despair those eyes showed.

Those expressive, sad, green eyes were dead in a way he didn't think he could comprehend. He doubted he would ever understand.

And it was over in a flash those eyes jerked away, leaving him with emotions raw and needy. His stolen moment of hidden pain not enough anymore. But he didn't deserve more. Not when there was a trembling little boy in front of him with such wounded eyes.

"Tweek…" he spoke the name with a longing he hardly understood this time. And just as the boy allowed his eyes to flick up again, Kenny made a mistake. His right hand rose and reached toward the boy, hoping to catch a shoulder, arm, hand in comfort he longed to give. Finally able to give. His right foot following the move and bringing him a step closer to the other boy.

Such a small thing. But when your life is nothing but pain and flinching from the slightest movement in fear of that pain your instincts are hard to ignore. Tweek froze a millisecond staring in horror at the offending limbs before spinning on his heel and bolting.

Before Kenny could understand the blue bathroom door had slammed closed with force. He was left alone with his racing thoughts of guilt surprise and pain. Once again Kenny, the poor boy who always died was left to stew in grief.

And while this grief was a new form, it was not an unfamiliar sensation.

* * *

><p><strong>StarGuide2011<strong>


	2. I'm Drifting away

**Disclaimer&Warning: **Chapter one my lovers

**Notation: **More on this story you people seem to love so. Short and bare bones. That is my style for this one. Take a look at the song Clint Eastwood by the Gorillaz for this chapter, it was on repeat for the whole thing. Seriously short for one of my chapters, but this fic is a deeper meaning one and i find those harder to type, plus not a lota inspiration for all this heavy shit. Tweeky's POV is next. Hopefully once i set up the stage i can fire these off better.

**Read. Love. Be inspired!**

* * *

><p>I'd aways wondered when I was younger what made me able to die and reanimate. Even in a town like South Park it was a pretty remarkable thing. I used to sit in my room, the sounds of mom and dad fighting and screaming flowing in from the other room, and think of all the fantastic explinations.<p>

Maybe I was an angel. That was my favorite. I had blond hair and blue eyes and that matched the discriptions of aall the angels I had heard of. I dreamed I had been sent down to earth to save the world from evil. When I began playing as Mysterion I almost felt like I was fulfilling my life goal.

Prehaps I was a demon. It was easy to contemplate, seeing as I went to Hell far more often then heaven. I was a creature from Satans army, a vicious beast with no remorse or regard for others. That thought comforted me, let me do crule thigs. I fallowed Cartman and felt vindicated for a while being a bastard to everyone.

Demon or Angel thoughts like that were my most pleasant options. They at least meant I was real. Some time around middle school I began to fall apart. This constant dieing, what if I wasn't really dieing? I could have een blacking out, hallucinating. Anything.

When I thought more about it I began to realize how much more likely that seemed. The idea I was in some fucked up dream or some sort of matrix creation became more believable with each death. Everyone around me acted like it was normal. Sure Stand would say "They killed Kenny!" and Kyle would respond "Those bastards!" but thn life went on.

If I missed school it was assumed I was dead. If I was missing I was assumed dead. But there was never a funeral. Never any sort of acknogldegement at all.

So I got hooked on drugs for a while. It didn't help that my tolerance was wiped out every time my body was reanimated. Sometimes I'd OD and sometimes I suffocste on my own vomit, no one was there to care either way.

I think that eighth grade was the last time I could call anyone my friend in good concionse and mean it. That was when I lost the last shred of a life I had held on to. Sure I still hung out with the guys, sure I played basketball for high school (as Cartman was constantly pointing out "Po'boy got that gettoh game in the bag") but I was never really into it.

By tenth grade I had given up on everything. I never did my homework, what was the point when a bus wa likely to hit me on the way to school anyway? I never went out of my way to hang out with anyone, I dobt they even noticed y absence. I went to most basketball games and the coach was content with the minamil effort of that.

I had faded from view of them all completely.

* * *

><p><strong>StarGuide2011<strong>


End file.
